Source: Varieties, Binaries, and Other Assortments by Discreet Metal Machine Music
Whale – Part II
Standing in the centre of an ego, covered in mayhem, think someone would clean it up, down there on the pavement cigarette butts, a stream of soda winding its way, detritus of the day, early morning fog, mind and sky, the rising of smoke from the vents, puffed out suits breathing in, the barge of taxis, flashes of green men. All jealous now, get out of our way, there’s a dog sniffing shoes as they snap along. The high of March, crisp breath air, all pilfering around, furtive hands passing the buck, grab a newspaper, read it up, rip a snack’s skin, gobble it down, slurp on a coffee, make sure to frown before you light your fag and add to the gloom. Hope it brightens soon, brightens soon…
Musical fancies swirl in the fast food air, floating vipers strike and twist, the beat and stab, innards scream run yet he stays, the self-twisted self, self-eating self at play. Stays and listens consumed by the dread that lies behind lines as he lines up before the colored altar, food for a price, the belly says “aye” but shrieks too at every rise and dip of song, shrinks in its honeyed grip.
KFC server, hag-crusted worn, painted ping pong eyes, hands Whale crumpled pack. Silently accepted. Standing scarecrow, chicken and pop withered, stares mildly. Imaginings conjour up empty pitch no ball’s dared bounce, nothing living approached, back of an abandoned mansion, barren haunted square, forever never-land…Then over puffs a dry wind, from crusty mouth now a word, boredom-strangled strained “Next”, and Whale moves aside with his load, ears abuzz, overflowed.
Source: Whale Part II – Paul R. Buckle Archive
